


Rush

by Cranksta (Vertizontally)



Series: '99 Thunderbird Sport [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alley Blow Jobs, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anonymous Sex, Bisexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt Speaks in Grunts, Geralt in Leather, Jaskier Getting Saved, Jaskier is a Musician, M/M, Mugging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-02-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22912264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vertizontally/pseuds/Cranksta
Summary: I saw Cavill on a motorcycle.And really that's about all the motivation I needed to have Jaskier on his knees thanking Geralt for saving his dumb ass while Geralt is in full riding gear.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: '99 Thunderbird Sport [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646812
Comments: 13
Kudos: 300





	Rush

Jaskier knew he was being followed, he’d just hoped he would’ve gotten to the train station before they got too bold.

He’s been busking most of the day and the ones following him know just how much he’s carrying inside his guitar case right now because they watched him pack up. Most criminals aren’t bold like this- he’s seen their faces. He wonders if maybe they just think he’s too stupid to realize what’s happening.

But fuck. Jaskier’s not dumb. Naive, maybe, but not dumb.

He’s been on his own since he told his parents to fuck off with their expectations and goodwill that only came with strings to hook into his skin and keep him where they wanted him. He’s been in and out of jobs that barely paid enough for him to afford a single room in a flat with people he couldn’t trust.

But music has always kept him sane. And fed when he wasn’t making enough elsewhere.

He grips the strap on his case a little harder, purposefully keeping himself steady and calm so as not to show that he knows exactly what he’s being targeted for. This road was always too empty at night and it’s making him anxious as he realizes he really has nowhere to run to.

Only a few more blocks. Then he’ll be at the train station to go _home_ and he’ll be among other people and he’ll be _safe._

But as he’s being pulled into an alley, yelping in surprise, he realizes he’s not that lucky.

There’s three of them and Jaskier’s being pinned back against his guitar case and against the brick wall. Hands in his shirt and more grabbing at his arms, making him call out and struggle until there’s _sharp_ and _cold_ under his chin.

It wasn’t enough they wanted his fucking money, they had to pull a _knife_ on him too.

He’s frozen in shock and the wash of sudden fear and breathing heavy as he’s being told to hand over his guitar case and _fuck that he paid good money for his accoustic thank you._ He tries to negotiate to just let them have the cash and keep his guitar, but gets a stinging cut at the base of his throat instead.

Jaskier is _angry_ and _terrified_ and _why is this happening to him_?

They’re still pinning his arms, reaching to cut the strap off his case when he sees _light_ and then a massive dark shape entering the alley at speed.

The muggers shout as the one holding a knife to Jaskier’s throat is pulled away sharply, taking a punch to the jaw, dropping Jaskier and focusing on their attacker.

Jaskier’s _defender._

And oh god, he can already feel the wheels turning in his head. _The ballads he could write over this._ Over the man dressed in black leathers rushing in to save him from danger.

And oh, he’s so _good_ at it too.

The man never misses a swing and before long sends his attackers scurrying down the alley.

There’s a moment of tension as Jaskier finally gets to soak in the form in front of him, the light from the opening of the alley reflecting off wet brick and concrete to provide just enough illumination for Jaskier to _see_ him.

He’s dressed in riding leathers. Thick trousers, heavy boots that could probably crush someone’s skull if used to defend himself, a jacket cut to hug it’s wearer in the torso and give room in the shoulder, worn gloves with armour across the knuckles. A full-face helmet with the visor still down, keeping the man’s face a secret.

Jaskier can hear the purr of the motorcycle at the mouth of the alley and Jaskier wonders if maybe _he’s_ purring at the same frequency.

He’s torn back to reality as his defender _his champion_ turns to him, fists clenching.

There’s a long and awkward minute of silence, so Jaskier does what he does best. He talks, reaching to wipe at the blood beading across his neck as he babbles on.

“Thank you for all of… _that._ I don’t know what I would’ve done if they’d actually managed to take my case. I pay my rent with my music, you know? I might have well just let them run me through if they’d insisted on taking it.”

Jaskier sighs, gripping at his shoulder strap and biting his lip.

“Though I suppose now I’ll have to find another place to sing, hmm? Or at least another way home. Or maybe buy some pepper spray…”

Jaskier trails off, considering his options for a moment before he shakes his head, refocusing.

“So anyway, thank you.”

There’s not much in a response, just a deep hum that vibrates in his champion’s chest and settles somewhere in the tenseness of Jaskier’s gut. The voice is lovely, if inexpressive, and the rest of the man (or at least the shape of him) is just as pleasing.

Jaskier bites his lip again, tapping the tips of his fingers together as he thinks.

He nods sharply once, the feeling in his chest fluttering as he moves to put his case down, stepping forward. The man isn’t much taller than him, but the sheer bulk of him seems to dwarf Jaskier’s slighter one. The musician almost pouts at that- he _does_ go to the gym thank you- but perhaps not as much as this one does.

“Now, please don’t punch me for being so… forward, but I _am_ quite grateful and truthfully watching you scare those thieves away for me has given me the kind of adrenaline rush that is urging me to do something about it. So-”

Jaskier steps closer, reaching out to trace his fingers along the rough leather of his protector’s jacket and watching for a response before continuing.

“If you’d like, I could show you just how _grateful_ I am?”

He brushes his hand over the front of the man’s leather trousers, pointedly pressing against his groin for a moment to get his point across, half expecting to get decked and bold enough to ignore the risk.

There’s silence again and Jaskier feels high strung enough to snap under the weight of it.

And finally, a nod and a grunt and the nauseous fear is gone, replaced by thrill and excitement. Jaskier grins, pulling the man back with him until he hits the brick wall, sinking to his knees.

The ground is hard and cold through his jeans, but he doesn’t care to dwell on it, focusing on the warm body in front of him.

He takes a moment to paw at the thighs of his defender, humming happily at how he can _feel_ the ungiving muscle underneath the leather. He wonders what the man looks like under all of this, but content to never know. They’d probably never meet again after this and Jaskier finds that being remembered as _that guy that gave grateful and enthusiastic head in an alley_ is a satisfying enough note to leave on.

Which, speaking of…

He runs his hands back to the join of his champion’s legs, groping more firmly and grinning at the tightness he can feel behind the panel of leather. The man is already hard and they have barely even started. Perhaps he’s been suffering from an adrenaline rush of his own?

Jaskier presses nimble fingers against the buttons and zipper of the leather, finding the opening roomier than he expected. It’s incredibly convenient and allows him to reach in, tugging out the gorgeous cock waiting there for him. Uncut and warm in his hand, the heady scent of musk and damp skin making him wet his lips.

_Incredible._

Jaskier considers himself twice-lucky.

He doesn’t hesitate, craving a fast release just like his defender probably is. The head of the man’s cock fits nicely against his tongue, precum already beading at the tip.

Jaskier takes a moment to savor and lap before gripping the base of his savior’s cock and sinking down on it until it hits just shy of uncomfortable in his throat. He relishes the satisfied grunt in the man’s chest and hums around the cock in his throat in appreciation.

Jaskier is proud of many things and skills he’s accumulated in life and being a good lover is one of them. He laps and sucks and gets lost in the rhythm of it. The guttural hums of the man above him feeding back into his own enthusiasm and pleasure.

He feels bold, reaching around the man’s incredible thighs to grab two handfuls of incredible, leather-clad ass. Clumsy, armoured hands grip into his hair, a sudden jerk of the man’s hips and a garbled moan reaching Jaskier’s ears and _oh_ he likes that. Quite a lot.

Jaskier reaches a hand down to paw at the fly to his own jeans, pulling out his cock to work in time with the one in his mouth. Whining and moaning around it much to his protector’s obvious enjoyment.

Fuck he doesn’t even have a _name_ and he already feels like this is the most important fuck he’ll ever have in his life. The one he’ll always remember when someone asks him about the best cock he’s ever had. The one that will fuel his fantasies for months to come.

Maybe Jaskier just has a thing for watching a man rush into danger to _save him_ and his livelihood. Maybe he _likes_ the brutality and gentleness all wrapped up in _that_ act and this one. Maybe he’s _already thinking about how good the music inspired by this will sound._

And maybe Jaskier is just a little full of himself. Arrogant and self-assured about his ability to make this something the other man will also remember until his dying days.

Jaskier groans happily, letting the hands in his hair be more firm and guiding with him, happy to let the other man take over so he can focus on his own cock for a moment. And he does, thrusting shallowly into the musician’s throat and making him wonder if he’ll even be able to sing tomorrow.

That thought makes him shudder- the idea of being face-fucked so thoroughly that he rasps for the rest of the day. He’d be forced to stay home and think about what took his voice and the taste of cock in his mouth.

Jaskier takes over again after a few minutes, a new hunger clawing his insides. He’s so close to his own finish just by being at the mercy of the same hands that protected him, but he’s not ready just yet.

The fingers in his hair stay despite the almost violent bobbing of his head, the low growls making their way from his champion’s chest into his own spine. He’s humming, chasing cock until he can feel the brush of leather on his chin.

It only takes a few deep swallows before he can feel the trembling pulse of orgasm on his tongue, the taste of release in the back of his throat.

He laps greedily, closing his eyes and letting the satisfaction wash over him, finding his own finish moments later. He’s shuddering, panting over the softening cock in his mouth when it leaves him empty, finally able to take a deep breath to steady and calm himself.

The hands in his hair are still there, but gentler. The man is hovering over him just a little, concern somehow etched into the quiet lines of his form. Jaskier grins, taking a moment to lap at his own lips before nodding.

“Fine, I’m fine. Thank you.”

And _fuck_ , his voice is shattered.

A grunt and the hands in his hair are gone and Jaskier barely gets enough time to shove the man’s cock back in his leathers (there’s no way he’ll be able to do it himself with those clunky gloves) and tuck his own away before there’s distance between them again.

Jaskier feels a moment of cold, but shakes himself of it.

“I think I’m going to remember that for a long while.”

He says it with a smile and gets a heavy nod in return, the expression almost comical with the dark, featureless helmet in the way.

Jaskier stands, brushing off some of the grime on his knees and stretching just a little.

“Now, I think I ought to finish my journey home. I imagine you also have more important things to do than rescue hapless minstrels like myself.”

He winks, met with a disbelieving and entirely too adorable snort.

Jaskier picks up his case, making his way to the mouth of the alley and glancing at the motorcycle idling there. There’s not a lot to make out in the dimness of the night, but he does know it looks fairly large until it’s rider moves to sit astride it.

He almost whines at how the machine practically becomes a _toy_ under the man on top of it.

Jaskier takes a deep breath, feeling the familiar ache he always has after taking a lover and seeing them leave. It’s a curse and a joy, being smitten so easily. 

Jaskier is waving as he sets off down the sidewalk.

“Perhaps I’ll meet you again under better circumstances! But, if not then… thank you. Again.”

He gets a slow nod in return and a stilted wave, then they’re parting ways, the rumble of the engine echoing in the quiet street as his champion makes his way back to wherever he belongs at this time of night.

Perhaps he _will_ get lucky enough to meet the man again.

Maybe he will just sing to the idea of him- weaving his presence in and out of the songs he writes, leaving marks on everything that he touches.

Jaskier sighs, not wanting to allow himself to think too deeply on it, adjusting the strap on his shoulder and turning to continue his lonely walk home.

**Author's Note:**

> Will they meet again? Who knows! =D
> 
> [Come say hi on my Twitter!](https://twitter.com/Vertizontally)


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